{POV Stefan}
I spent two days in a hotel room, checking my phone obsessively.
Lila hadn't returned my calls. Hadn't responded to my texts. I'd left multiple voicemails, each more desperate than the last, my voice cracking as I promised her everything I had to give.
The silence was unbearable—not knowing where she was, how she was feeling, whether she'd changed her mind about me.
I barely slept. Barely ate. Just paced the small room and checked my phone and replayed every moment of our time together, searching for signs I'd missed, mistakes I could have avoided, ways I could have done this better.
On the third morning, my phone finally buzzed.
My heart leaped, hope surging through me as I grabbed for the device. But instead of Lila's name, I saw Harper's.
We need to talk. Coffee shop on 5th and Main. 2pm. Come alone.
I stared at the message, hardly believing what I was reading. Harper hadn't completely shut me out.
After everything, the betrayal, the ugly scene in my bedroom, her furious departure, she was reaching out. It was more than I deserved.
I arrived at the coffee shop early, choosing a corner booth where we could talk privately.
The place was half-empty in the mid-afternoon lull, the baristas chatting quietly behind the counter, soft music playing through overhead speakers.
I ordered a coffee I didn't drink and waited, my knee bouncing with nervous energy.
Harper walked in exactly on time.
She looked tired. Older somehow, like the past week had aged her in ways that went beyond physical exhaustion.
Her usual confidence was muted, replaced by something more guarded, more wary. She slid into the seat across from me without greeting, her expression carefully neutral.
"I'm not here for you," Harper said flatly, cutting straight through any pretense of small talk. "I'm here for Lila. And maybe for myself. I need answers."
She paused, her eyes searching my face.
"She's pregnant. You know that, right?"
"I know." I nodded, my throat tight. "Eleanor found the test. That's what started the whole confrontation."
"And how do you feel about it? The pregnancy?"
I didn't hesitate. The answer had been living in my chest since the moment I'd seen those two pink lines in Eleanor's hand.
"I want this baby. I've wanted a child for years—you know that. But more than that, I want Lila." I leaned forward, needing her to understand. "The baby is a gift, but she's the one I can't live without."
Harper's expression remained skeptical, her arms crossed over her chest. "That's a nice speech. But how do I know this isn't just your ego talking?"
She shifted in her seat, her voice hardening.
"Mom humiliated you. She sabotaged your surrogacy, manipulated you for years. Maybe Lila is convenient—a way to prove you're still desirable. A way to hurt Mom back."
The accusation stung, but I understood why she was asking. Harper had watched her mother's marriage from the inside.
She'd seen the dysfunction, the distance, the slow erosion of whatever had once existed between Eleanor and me. She had every reason to be suspicious.
"What I feel for Lila isn't about Eleanor," I said carefully, choosing each word with precision.
"It isn't about revenge or wounded pride. When I'm with Lila, I feel like myself again. The person I was before I got lost in a marriage that was slowly suffocating me."
I paused, searching for the words that could make her understand.
"She sees me, really sees me, and she makes me want to be better. Not because she asks me to change, but because being around her reminds me of who I used to be. Who I want to be."
Harper was quiet for a moment, processing. Then she spoke, her voice softer than before.
"She thinks she doesn't deserve to be happy. Did you know that?"
She traced a pattern on the table with her finger, not meeting my eyes.
"She told me she doesn't know how to build a life with you when it means destroying someone else's family. She's convinced she's the villain in this story."
My heart ached at the words, at the image of Lila carrying that weight alone.
"She's not the villain," I said firmly. "If anyone is, it's me. I'm the one who was married. I'm the one who should have ended things with Eleanor years ago instead of letting it drag on, pretending we had something worth saving."
"But you didn't." Harper's eyes finally met mine, sharp and accusing. "And now Lila's caught in the middle, pregnant and terrified and convinced you're going to wake up one day and regret choosing her."
"I won't." I leaned forward, my voice intense.
"Because I've already chosen her. I left Eleanor. The night Lila walked out. I told her I want a divorce. I'm staying in a hotel because I refused to spend another night in that house pretending we have a marriage worth saving."
Harper blinked, genuine surprise breaking through her guarded expression. "You left? Already?"
"This isn't a midlife crisis—it's clarity. For the first time in years, I know exactly what I want." I held her gaze, willing her to see the truth in my eyes. "Lila. Our baby. A chance to build something real."
I paused, my voice softening.
"And you, Harper. You're my family in every way that matters, and I don't want to lose you."
Harper's eyes glistened, though she blinked rapidly to hide it. She looked away, her jaw tight with the effort of maintaining composure.
"You really hurt me, Stefan. Both of you." Her voice cracked slightly. "I don't know if I can forgive that."
"I know. And I'm not asking you to forgive me today. I'm just asking you to leave the door open. To give me a chance to prove this is real."
The silence stretched between us, heavy with years of shared history and the uncertain future ahead. Harper traced the rim of her untouched coffee cup with her finger, lost in thought.
Finally, she spoke.
"If you hurt her, if this turns out to be some rebound thing and you break her heart, I will never speak to you again." Her eyes met mine, deadly serious. "Either of you."
"I understand."
"And I'm not ready to forgive you yet."
She hesitated, something shifting in her expression—releasing something she'd been holding onto. "But I told Lila I don't want to lose her. I guess that means I don't want to lose you either. Even though you're both idiots."
I felt something loosen in my chest—a knot of fear I hadn't known I was carrying.
"She's barely eaten in two days," Harper added quietly. "Just sits on the couch, staring at her phone and not answering your calls."
"Will you help me talk to her?"
Harper considered this for a moment, then pulled out her phone and started typing. "I'm telling her to stop being a martyr and answer your damn calls."
She looked up at me, a hint of her old sharpness returning—the Harper I knew, the daughter I loved.
"The rest is up to you. Don't screw it up."